


Cracked Skin and Inkstains

by LuxaLucifer



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Double Penetration, M/M, Valley Forge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels like a giddy schoolgirl around Lafayette's charm at times, although he feels a little better when he remembers that he's not the only one who succumbs to it. There's John, not to mention the trail of pretty girls left behind the Marquis. He's a heartbreaker, and they're not exempt. After all, France awaits.</p><p>"Are you going to simply stand there, Alexander?" says Lafayette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracked Skin and Inkstains

**Author's Note:**

> Well here is my Sin Fic, as I've labelled it on my computer. I kept cringing and whispering "he's on my money" even though I keep telling myself it's the historical figures. Ah, well, I hope you enjoy it!

There is no glory at Valley Forge, only campfires snuffed with snow and feet bound with the cloth strips of worn jackets.

Alexander Hamilton watches the snow fall from the window of the farmhouse he doesn't belong in, wondering if there's a thing he can say to heaven or hell to stop the downpour. He's got Laurens' woolen coat on and it's still not enough to keep out the chill, not when he's standing this close to the frosted window. When he goes outside it's like the cold is burrowing past his clothes straight into his chest, freezing him from the inside out. He can't imagine what it's like to live out there.

"He'll be fine, you know."

There are inkstains on Laurens's hands. Letters written for Washington or for his cause or for friends, Hamilton doesn't know. He looks down at his own hands and sees the same. Dry, blotched, cracked with cold. Same as John's.

"We should be out there with him, not stuck reading the General's mail while he makes all the important decisions."

Laurens leans against the wall, easy smile spreading across his lips, stretching the freckles on his cheeks, a quality that always makes Hamilton want to do things the good book has a few offhand verses telling him not to. Hamilton couldn't name them if he tried.

"At least one of us has something important to do, right?" says John.

Hamilton's almost pulled out of his sour mood enough to chuckle at that. "Apparently he's been boasting to everyone in the valley who'll listen, although apparently it's not enough for him. He's apparently been trying to convince Washington to invade Canada."

Laurens snorts at that. "Big dreams, our Frenchman."

The other man shifts off the wall and to the window, hand sliding across Hamilton's wrist as he reaches to run his finger against the pane. "He should be here any minute now."

When Hamilton turns his face, Laurens's lips are only inches from his. "What? Have you been keeping secrets from me, John Laurens?"

He can feel Laurens's breath against his ear when he laughs. Warm, at odds with the air. "I may have neglected to tell you that our Frenchman has been invited to our table for dinner tonight. General Washington wants to talk to him, hear how he thinks the men are doing."

"Is that what he's here for?"

"I think between the two of us we can convince him to stay the night."

Hamilton feels a grin matching Laurens's own spreading across his face. Before he can reply with some pointless innuendo, however, the door to the farmhouse slams open. Hamilton and Laurens nearly fall over each other in their joint attempt to race to the front door, pushing through the doorframe together so roughly they fall more than walk out.

The man who thrust the door open is now attempting to shut it, fingers white with cold clinging to the edge as he pushes it against the wind. Hamilton almost doesn't recognize him under the woolen blanket. Every breath he lets out frosts the air almost as much as the snow has the man's hair, pulled back into a ponytail that threatens to spill loose with every movement.

"The Marquis de Lafayette," says Hamilton, feeling himself smile.

The man in front of him manages to slam the door shut, turning towards him with snow coating the scruff on his face. Not exactly a beard, but longer than he kept it when all they did was carouse in taverns in New York.

"The Marquis de Lafayette? Is that all you have to say to me, Alexander! It has been nearly a week since I have seen your face, with nothing but rows of sick men and piles of snow! It is a disaster out there, and I come to this- this house of farms to rest, and what do I get? My title and name repeated back at me!"

Laurens pulls the blanket down from around the Marquis, hanging it on a hook against the wall. It's not exactly toasty inside the farmhouse, but there's no need for the Frenchman's layers- the thick nightshirt poking out from under the stained uniform, the woolen gloves with rags wrapped around the holes, the scarf embroidered with French stitching fancier than most Continental soldiers have ever seen and dirtier than most of the Versailles court could imagine.

Lafayette shoots them both a crooked grin that belies the exhaustion etched in his every feature. Hamilton wants to reach out and trace the bags under his eyes but manages to stop himself. They're in a hallway, after all. There could be servants anywhere. Rumors like that kill good careers. Rumors like that kill good men.

"Dinner's on its way," says Laurens.

"That is a good thing to hear," begins Lafayette, clearly beginning to say more when he pauses.

They all stop when a tall figure turns the corner, the stern turn of his lips relaxing slightly when he spots the three men. General George Washington looks the part even with his coat stained from the weather and the shirt underneath frayed and worn. It's clean, which speaks to Martha's presence.

So does the smell wafting from the kitchen, though. Hamilton wonders what they did before she arrived. He licks his lips and wonders how long before dinner, glancing over at Lafayette. There's a moment as surprise as he notices the hunger in his eyes before remembering the tales that the Frenchman is sharing the miseries of his men.

"It is good to see you, Marquis," says Washington, shaking his hand. "Dinner will be served presently. Hopefully we can warm you up a bit tonight."

"That would be nice," says Lafayette, his expression lighting up. "I cannot stay away from the men for very long, but a few hours of respite is not uncalled for, no?"

"You could come here for dinner every night if you so chose," says Washington as he turns away, his words almost an afterthought. "It is only your stubbornness that keeps you away."

"I cannot stay away from the men," says Lafayette softly, and his eyes are suddenly in a place that Hamilton is desperate to reach.

They file after Washington into the dining room, where Martha and the servant girls, a group of women that Hamilton and Laurens have unsuccessfully tried to flirt with only to discover that every one of them is faithfully married to a soldier in the valley, begin setting the dishes out.

The Marquis eats ravenously. As he and Laurens fill the silence between forks scraping, Hamilton spends the time in uncharacteristic silence examining Lafayette's gaunt cheekbones and thin wrists. They have been hungry from time to time, reluctant to eat well when the men outside are starving, but Hamilton has only had to tighten his belt a single notch or two.

"Dinner tonight was fantastic, as usual," says Hamilton, smiling at Martha.

"Don't think you're going to snare me with your wiles, boy," she replies. "You say that every night, even when the greens are wilted and the potatoes need salt. I'll have you know I couldn't find a single ounce of oil. You're just a dirty flatterer."

"Alexander excels at flattery," says Laurens.

"So the girls tell me," replies Martha.

A few years ago that might have warmed his cheeks, but now he just winks at the General's wife.

"Watch yourself, boy," says Washington, tone pleasant as he pops the last piece of the venison on his plate into his mouth.

They take their plates to the kitchen themselves and begin to take care of it before Martha shoos them away. "You three should take the evening off," she says, eyeing Lafayette. "Alexander, John, you two are being bad hosts. The Marquis has had a rough few weeks, and you're letting him take his dishes out."

"It is no bother," says Lafayette, stumbling over his words in his eagerness to get them out. "I am happy to help any way I can."

Martha smiles, wrinkles around her eyes creasing. "We know, Gil. Don't worry, everyone knows."

Lafayette smiles in return. The urgency in the young man dissipates. If Alexander had to describe it he might say that an aura had dissolved, leaving him calmer, actually relaxed for once in the excitable Frenchman's life. Martha Washington always knows what to say.

"I'm going out to check on the men," says the General as they gather around the stairwell. He puts his hat on his head, and Alexander keeps a thought about his baldness to himself; anyone else would merit snickering to John, but this is Washington.

"When should Mrs. Washington expect you back?" asks John.

"I'll be hours," says the General. There's a pause where he looks over the three of them. Alexander thinks he sees a hint of a smile play about his lips.

When he's gone, the three of them stand there.

"What are we up to doing now?" says Lafayette.

Hamilton and Laurens exchanged a look. Lafayette didn't miss it, looking between the two with a curious expression. "What are you thinking of?" he asks.

"Let's go upstairs," says John. "I have some ideas I think you might like."

And just like that, the Marquis understands. Alexander remembers fondly when he had to flirt in French to get the man to understand what he was going for…if Lafayette was keen on jokes about his country he might have told him the language was fitting. Alexander didn't, however, because one doesn't antagonize someone you hope to bed.

Well, unless it's John. The teasing between them is intense sometimes, but Alexander lives for the breaks in the increasingly oxymoronic monotony of writing for the war.

Alexander watches Lafayette as they walk up the stairs. They head for the room that Laurens and Hamilton share, and before Lafayette is able to do anything more than stand in it, Hamilton and Laurens are pushing their beds together.

"I see that I am in for quite the special…oh, how you say…event?"

"Occasion," says John, tapping Alexander on the shoulder and whispering something in his ear. Alexander's mouth drops for the briefest moment, but the idea John is suggesting is already causing his breeches to tighten.

"Can we do that?" whispers Alexander.

"Whatever that is," says Lafayette. "I think you should do it."

"You don't even know what my idea is," says John.

"You're true," says Lafayette, in that cheery way that says he has no idea he's mangling the English language. "I still think you should…is it, make for it?"

"Close," says John, taking the edge of Lafayette's uniform and pulling him towards the bed. "'Go for it' is the phrase you're looking for."

Alexander shuts the door and locks it before they're spotted by an erstwhile servant. John is reviving the fire while Lafayette lounges on the bed, already unbuttoning the shirt that was hiding beneath all his layers.

"Who said we wanted you naked?" says John casually, setting the poke in its place next to the fire and standing up.

"Oh, it is to be that kind of game?"

They'd had to plans of the kind, but Alexander watches John side on the edge of their makeshift bed and slide his hand across to begin toying with the edge of Lafayette's shirt. "We're here to keep you warm. A bit hard if you're naked, don't you think?"

"You're true," Lafayette repeats, and while he has no freckles to stretch across his features, his white teeth contrast so nicely with his dark skin that Alexander has to suppress a sigh.

He feels like a giddy schoolgirl around Lafayette's charm at times, although he feels a little better when he remembers that he's not the only one who succumbs to it. There's John, not to mention the trail of pretty girls left behind the Marquis. He's a heartbreaker, and they're not exempt. After all, France awaits.

"Are you going to simply stand there, Alexander?" says Lafayette.

"What would you rather have me doing?" he replies.

"I can think of many things," says Lafayette.

"Start saying them," says John. "Or we'll just have to guess."

The fire isn't the warm yet but the cold seems driven from the room somehow. Lafayette looks between the two men, biting his lower lip. It doesn't take much to figure out what's going through his head. Alexander isn't exactly hard yet, but the ideas flowing through his head are sending the blood straight down.

"If you don't have the words," says Alexander. "Tell me in French."

"I can't-" begins John. He's lying. Alexander suspects even Lafayette knows that John is, if not completely natural at the language, fluent in French. No one ever has the intention of saying so; it would ruin the game.

"Don't worry," says Alexander. "I'll translate."

Lafayette shifts on the bed, drawing his legs up onto it to rest in front of him. He's a tall man, something Alexander has both enjoyed and been jealous of in equal part in the past. He runs a hand through his hair, springing it from its ponytail so that it billows out around him. John runs a hand through it. Alexander watches him shiver at John's cold fingertips.

"Perhaps we should warm more than just myself," murmurs Lafayette, eyelids fluttering shut.

"Is that what you want?" says John pointedly.

"Embrasse moi," says Lafayette, dark brown eyes suddenly trained on Alexander's. "Embrasser mon visage, ma mâchoire, ma poitrine, tout le chemin vers le bas pour la meilleure partie de moi."

Quite eloquent, Alexander has to admit. Too bad he has other plans. "He says he wants you to tie him to the bed and smack his ass with a belt until he cries."

The look on Lafayette's face is exquisite. A blush creeps up his neck as he pounds the bed with a fist and says, tone colored with embarrassment, "That is not what I said!" His accent is so thick, Alexander notes with amusement, that the words are hardly understandable.

"Oh, isn't it? Maybe I misheard you."

"Alexander wouldn't lie, Gil," says John. "Are you calling our dear friend a liar?"

"Non!" says Lafayette loudly, so loudly, in fact, that John presses two fingers to his lips and shushes him.

"You wouldn't want to attract attention, would you?"

Watching Lafayette struggle with language is always fun, Alexander decides. The Frenchman turns to him and says, "Alexander! Why are you so teasing- I only said I would want-"

"Maybe you did, maybe you didn't," says Alexander, sitting on the end of the bed and sliding his hands up the trousers Lafayette was wearing. He tries not to think about what it means that the rich Major General is wearing trousers and not breeches. Is the war really going so poorly? No, now is not the time. His mind moves quickly, too quickly sometimes, and he has found himself killing the mood with off-kilter comments. He isn't going to do that tonight.

"I didn't!"

"But would you like that?" says John. "Isn't that the important part?"

They're on either side of Lafayette, Alexander's palm rubbing the back of his calf, John's face now only inches away from his ear when he speaks.

"I would like it," admits Lafayette, a smile surfacing through his nervousness. "Kiss me, you two, and I will like anything."

"That's very broad," says Alexander. "You may wish to be more specific."

"I trust you will stop if you think I am no longer enjoying things, no?"

It's John who replies, because Alexander is going for the kiss. "Of course we will," says John as Alexander presses his lips to Lafayette's, the edges of his facial hair brushing Lafayette's cheek.

Alexander hums at the feel of Lafayette's stubble against his cheek, nipping his lip before indulging in an open mouthed kiss that sends sparks flying from more than just the fireplace. He loses his concentration for a moment when the other man reaches out and grips his shoulder with a strong hand. They stay like this, taking short gasps in lieu of breathing so they keep their lips together.

They're pulled apart by John, eager to claim his turn. Alexander enjoys the sight of John kissing someone else, wondering it feels the same way when the man does it to him. John's fingers go to pull on Lafayette's thick hair, his edge of his tongue visible for a split second before delving back into the kiss.

John finally breaks and begins sucking on his neck, low enough that any collar will be able to cover the marks. Lafayette's lips are kiss-swollen and red. Looking at the man makes Alexander ready to divest of his clothing; he finds the Frenchman warmer and more lively than the flames licking in their fireplace. It's easy to tell this when he's naked.

"What are you going to do with me?" asks Lafayette, his breath catching when John leaves a particularly deep mark on his shoulder, pulling his shirt down to expose it.

"Alex and I were thinking we might both take a go at you," says John so easily he might be telling the weather. There's so much mischief in that small body that it'll take years, maybe decades, to draw it all out, but Alexander is willing to take that time.

Lafayette's expression falls. "Is that only you were thinking of?"

"No," says John. "It isn't _only_ we were thinking of. I didn't mean taking turns."

"Huh?" says Lafayette. "I am not following this sentence."

"Nous allons vas te faire encule ensemble," says Alexander.

"I'm hoping that means what I think it means," says John. "Although, Gil, judging by the look on your face it does."

"Would you both…fit?"

"We're willing to find out," says Alexander. "Are you?"

Lafayette tilts his head and, either instinctively or on purpose, spreads his still clothed legs slightly. "What are you waiting for?"

John's easygoing mood vanishes and he pulls his shirt, breeches, and tights off with the dexterity of a man possessed. Soon he's naked, his clothes in a pile so far from the fire he'll pay for it later.

"You too," says John, pointing at Alexander. "The only one keeping his clothes is this one."

He begins lavishing Lafayette attention again as Alexander removes his clothes, going much more slowly than he would normally. As predicted, John glances over, eyes narrowed. "Aren't you going to hurry up?"

"I'll go at the pace I want," says Alexander.

John snorts. "We'll talk about that another time. Tonight is all for the Marquis here. We can't let this poor Frenchman suffer from the chill a second longer."

"Oui," says Lafayette with a smirk. Alexander instantly decides it is his duty to force that smile off his face in the best way he can think of.

He lunges forward, catching the man by surprise as he pushes their lips together in a much rougher kiss. Instead of letting Lafayette's hands roam freely he grabs one and presses it downward, soon feeling the reward of that action. Heat floods his groin as Lafayette's deft fingers coax him to hardness.

"Don't hog him," says John, with a tone that's more of an order than anything else.

Alexander runs his thumb along Lafayette's jaw, reveling in the stubble that's so different than most women, gaze unfocused as Lafayette continues to run his hand back and forth along Alexander's length, sometimes pausing to tug at his balls, knowing quite well the moan it elicits from him.

"Look how hard you are already," says John. "We need to hurry the show up. Can't mess up the main event."

Alexander draws back to watch John kiss Lafayette with a gaze as soft as his lips before grabbing him and bodily hefting him so that he's on his stomach, his legs splayed out and his face in a pillow.

"This is embarrassing," complains Lafayette, lifting his head to glare at John. "I am a nobleman, you know. This is not very noble."

"Aw, he learned what a double meaning is," says John, bring his hand down on Lafayette's ass. Lafayette squirms and yowls beneath him, raising his backside instinctively. The sight is more magnificent than the all the court of Versailles. No one is looking at Alexander's cock, but if they were they'd find it quite ready.

"It's our job to fuck the nobility right out of you," says Alexander. "All men are equal here, after all."

Alexander can see John pause in his ministrations, clearly about to say something about his opinion of Jefferson or his feelings about that statement when slavery is still so prevalent in every pore of what could be a great nation, but he decides to slap the Frenchman's ass again instead. The moan they get is worth keeping quiet.

It's Alexander who remembers to fetch the vegetable oil while Laurens none-too-gently pulls Lafayette's trousers down to his ankles. Alexander tosses John the bottle and runs his hand up Lafayette's shirt, enjoying the responding trembling.

"I thought we are here to heat me," says Lafayette, his voice no longer that lovely airy light Alexander is accustomed to, but low and deep, revealing the grain that only surfaces in battle and in bed.

"We can do both," says John. "Alex, do you want to be under him or behind him?"

Lafayette groans at the sentence. They ignore him for the moment. "Behind him is fine," says Alexander. "You like it the other way, don't you?"

"Are you being considerate, Alexander Hamilton? That's a first."

"Gil here is about to learn what a considerate man I am, aren't you?"

"S'il vous plait," is Lafayette's breathy reply.

John kisses him as they begin to take their positions, and when that man's lips touch his Alexander remembers why he's here in the first place, in this room, maybe here fighting this war in America. No, he reminds himself, that isn't true, but when John's eyelashes flutter against him and he rubs his thumb across his chin like that, it may as well be. He doesn't want the kiss to end, not until the war ends, but John draws away and returns to the whimpering Lafayette.

Alexander spreads the oil on his fingers as he takes his position, resisting the urge to reach around and stroke Lafayette's cock the way the other man did for him. His fingers slide between his legs, and he presses one finger into the hole he finds. "Doing okay?" he asks despite himself.

"I am always doing okay," says Lafayette, his face now resting on John's chest and neck instead of a pillow, John having moved beneath him. "I am doing many oka-ah!"

The sentence Alexander interrupted hadn't been important, he decides, not nearly as necessary as the sight of Lafayette arching against his finger is. Alexander enjoys watching the Frenchman writhe in pleasure and adds another, brushing that same spot within him that makes Lafayette drop any last vestige of calm.

"Do that again," pleads Lafayette, voice lilting with need as Alexander's slick fingers stretch him out.

Alexander takes his time before adding a third finger, kneading the bump inside him until Lafayette's deep voice is letting out a series of moans, a chorus made by Alexander for him and John to enjoy all to themselves. If anyone in the house hears they won't say anything; they haven't on previous cold nights when the General was out of the house.

He adds the third finger. Lafayette is sweating, whether from the proximity of the fire or his spot on John's chest or the three fingers in his ass, Alexander is unsure. The sight of Lafayette with his shirt all stained and wrinkled, ass in the air so Alexander can do as he wishes, face pressed into John's chest so firmly the man can't convince him to lift his head long enough for a kiss, is enough to make Alexander forgo the fingers and press his cock to his entrance, preparing himself for the sweet feeling of tight walls around him.

"Not yet," says John. "More fingers for more cock."

Alexander feels foolish for forgetting, and Lafayette is not the only one who is blushing now, although the color is easier to see on him than it is the man below him. It's hard to make John blush, but when he does Alexander likes it the best of all.

He unceremoniously shoves three fingers back in, only taking care with the fourth, watching for any hint of discomfort from Lafayette. "You know," he says. "You look good like this. I think we ought to have a man come in and paint you like this."

"Paint him?" says Laurens. "That sounds messy. How would we ever wash him off?"

"I can think of ways," says Alexander. "We wouldn't even have to find a river to do it, either. The solution to most problems lies in your own home."

"Poetic," says John, running his fingers through Lafayette's thick curly hair, ignoring the man as he bites into John's shoulder to muffle his moans. "You should write that down. Have Martha embroider it on a pillow."

"She has better things to do."

"She does," says John. "So do we, wouldn't you say, Gil?"

"Oui," mumbles Lafayette, letting go of John's skin to mumble his words out as Alexander continues stretching him out as much as one can with four fingers. "Like fucking me in the asshole."

"So dirty," says John, a smile playing about his lips. "Not very proper. You don't even have a cock in you yet, either."

"And whose fault is that?" is Lafayette's incendiary reply.

"Don't worry," says Alexander in quick reply. "I'll change that right now."

He withdraws his fingers and slicks his cock back up with the oil, making sure Lafayette looks ready before he pushes inside. There's nothing quite like this feeling for him, nothing like being inside someone and knowing the sensations wracking their body are your doing, all yours. The idea of it all motivates him into pushing all the way in in too little time, making the man he's inside arch up away from him and cry out in pain.

"Alexander!" says John, gaze shooting up to meet his. "Slow down! Think of someone other than yourself."

"I will," he says, annoyed by the implication and determined to prove it wrong.

He pulls back out of Lafayette gently, this time entering him much more slowly, taking care to caress his thigh soothingly with one hand. It's difficult to keep the slow pace up as he pulls back out to continue his slow thrusting when Lafayette is tight and hot around him, his muscles already taut from the exhilaration of the movement. Alexander is sweating now too, although he hardly notices except to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes.

Lafayette is talking now, all in French, a litany of desire. Asking for more, for Alexander to go harder, begging his god to make it keep feeling so good. The words as much as the heat in his groin keeps Alexander going, and he begins a steady pace, not too rough but enough to make Lafayette push back against him for more.

John is patient through all of this even though his own cock, hidden by the writhing Lafayette on top of him, must be aching. Alexander can't reach him, but they lock eyes for a moment. John smiles as he reached beneath him and begins to stroke Lafayette's cock. "Gil," he says. "You ready for more?"

"Oui," he murmurs. "Please."

"He remembered to say it in English this time," says Alexander with a smile.

"Stop teasing me!" moans Lafayette.

"As you wish," says John, kissing Lafayette's scruffy cheek and moving into position, Lafayette struggling up so his elbows were supporting him on the bed. Alexander helps John position his cock below his entrance, slicking it with oil beforehand and holding Lafayette's hips steady as the Frenchman begins to lower himself on it.

Lafayette has to pause more than once to bury his face in John's chest, the pressure inside him likely too much to bear at times. Alexander's attention is focused on how it good it feels as John's hard cock presses in next to him, stretching the man they're in farther than he's ever been before.

"This is…is _indecent_ ," says Lafayette with his voice so deep and strained Alexander can imagine the tears pricking his eyelids. "I like it."

Alexander looks down and see two cocks coming from a once tight ass and groans, throwing his head back reflexively. "So do I."

Sharing the Marquis like this is like nothing he's ever experienced. He's a man who has made his name through writing down how he feels, but he doesn't know how to describe this, only how to continue it. He thrusts into Lafayette, his chest shaking with the effort of keeping the pace. John isn't doing much moving, but he doesn't seem to mind, his eyes shut as he grips Lafayette's shoulder and lets out soft, deep moans as Alexander's cock rubs against his.

"You two have…have…filled me so…well," says Lafayette. "Please…continue this…this…harder…"

John reaches up and grabs his hair, pulling him down for a kiss as Alexander grips his hips more harshly and speeds up his pact, grunts escaping his own mouth as the friction increases. "You feel so good," he says, talking without meaning to, words dropping from his lips without his will. "You feel so damn good, Gil, I love this, I love being inside you like this, you me and John, this is how it's meant to be, all three of us..."

He continues, losing sight of what he's saying as the heat overwhelms him. He doesn't let go exactly, no, he definitely doesn't lose control, but he does increase his pace more than he ever intended. Lafayette doesn't seem to mind at all, his own cries matching Alexander's words, Lafayette's noises a mixture of French and broken moaning.

Alexander doesn't know if it's a minute or ten before Lafayette gives his warning cry, only that knowing John is sharing this man with him is almost as sweet as the tightness that only two cocks can bring.

"You're already going to come?" says John, his normally so smooth tone cracked into pieces. "I've barely touched you."

"Touch me? You are inside me!" says Lafayette, any grasp of English nuances gone.

"Fair," says John in that voice that only drives Alexander closer to the edge. "Then come, Marquis."

Alexander matches John's words with an especially hard thrust aimed at that spot inside Lafayette that drives him absolutely wild. John muffles Lafayette's yell with his lips as his come splatters across John's stomach. Alexander feels the cock next to his pulse hotly, the sight of Lafayette coming undone more than enough to bring John to the same point. Alexander holds Lafayette's hips to his groin, keeping him from falling on top of the man below him, as John's come coats his inner walls.

If Alexander wasn't already on the brink, the feeling of John's come slicking the passage for him as he pulls out, leaving a hole far emptier than it had been before, would have brought him there. Instead it pushes him past it and he grips Lafayette's hips hard enough to bruise as he hits that high like no other.

"Merci," says Lafayette as Alexander slowly pulls out, to, as far as he can tell, no one in particular.

Alexander sits on the edge before his legs give out while Lafayette collapses on John. They stay like that for several seconds, unwilling to move and return to the cold or the trappings of their lives. Alexander wishes they lived in a world where the three of them didn't have to catch stolen moments before they escaped from their fingers, pulling together the threads of their mutual connection even as they slipped away. Or, in simpler terms, he wishes they could live freely.

It's John who pries himself free of the exhausted Frenchman while Alexander is off in his own world, getting a few cloths to clean them up with, gently wiping Lafayette down as the man mumbles something in French, so low Alexander can't catch the words. Then he wipes his own stomach and hands a clean rag to Alexander, who absentmindedly wipes some of the sweat off himself.

"I'm getting cold," says Lafayette. "You…you miscreants have ruined me for the rest of the day! Possible the next tomorrow too. You better have not ruined me for many tomorrows."

"You're babbling," says John with an affectionate smile, smoothing the hair on Lafayette's brow back. "If you're cold, then we're failing. Let's get under the blankets."

Alexander pulls his breeches back on, not bothering with anything else as Laurens does the same. It's normal for Lafayette to share one of their beds when he visits, so they don't worry about anyone wondering where they've been.

"The pillows in France are fluffier," mumbles Lafayette as Alexander lays down next to him, John in his other side. "But the company is better."

"You're so sweet when we've fucked you silly," says John. "Are you warm again?"

"Oui," says Lafayette softly.

There might not be any glory at Valley Forge, thinks Alexander Hamilton, but there is companionship if you're lucky. Tomorrow Lafayette will return to wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and warming his fingers at a fire next to soldiers with no shoes, but for now he is safe, and that is something.


End file.
